Black Label and Bonsai Trees
by Course Jester
Summary: After a disturbing discovery about Casey's past, Chuck tries to be a good friend.  But with a guy like Casey, that's not easy.  One shot.


_Hi again! Great to see you._

_First of all, yes, this is really me. I am not dead, though I've been gone from these pages so long that you may have thought so, if you remembered to think of me at all. Real life has been relentlessly crazy, and I've had a hard time finding inspiration. This story had been sitting, half-finished and neglected, on my hard drive for a long while, and I thought that finishing it might be a good way to get myself writing again._

_Secondly, I should warn you that this is not the usual CJ stuff. There is no Charah, and in fact Sarah makes only a brief appearance. Rather, this is a story in which Chuck tries to be the friend that he believes Casey needs, with dubious results. _

_Thirdly, many thanks are in order to many people: **Poa**, who helped me formulate this idea waaaay back in the day; **aardvark7734**, who did a quick beta and offered many great ideas, most of which I mercilessly swiped; and the inimitable** Frea O'Scanlin**, who gave it a final read through last night. I also swiped the idea of leading off with a quotation from her, so I guess she's imitable after all. :) _

_I should also mention that this was first published on the Chuck vs. the Google Group site before I decided to post it here. I wasn't sure that I wanted to post it on FF, but Aardie thought that I should. Therefore, you can blame or thank him accordingly._

_This is set in the early part of S3, when Chuck is struggling to gain control over Intersect 2.0._

* * *

"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares." - _Henri Nouwen_

**Black Label and Bonsai Trees**

Jab. Straight right. Duck, jab, uppercut. Block, spin, side kick.

All of the blows connected. All of them elicited grunts of pain from their recipient, who reeled and collapsed from the last one.

"Casey! Enough!"

The NSA agent looked towards the voice, but he didn't seem to register that it belonged to his partner. He looked through her, eyes fixed on something only he could see, and it was a full ten seconds before his eyes refocused. Casey gazed down on the lump at his feet, and his eyes faded out again; another ten seconds of silence followed, punctuated with a grunt. When no further reaction seemed to be forthcoming, the lump on the floor spoke in an unsteady voice, as much to keep Sarah's fury at bay as anything.

"It's okay. I'm okay, Sarah. Really."

Apparently that was enough to keep her from attacking Casey, though probably not by much. Chuck stifled a groan as he pulled himself up from the mat, but he was in obvious pain, and Sarah's blue eyes flashed dangerously. Chuck caught the look, and he had no doubt that had Sarah been a killer attack robot with laser vision, Casey's head would have melted ten minutes ago. She moved to stand between Chuck and Casey, vibrating with barely contained rage. Chuck had the feeling that despite Casey's size advantage, things would not go well for him if that rage were to be expressed.

She didn't understand. And Chuck couldn't explain it, because he didn't have the right.

"Jesus, Casey! You're supposed to be training him, not beating him senseless!" Sarah was still glaring at her partner, clearly waiting for a response, but Casey just stood immobile, his expression unreadable. Finally, Chuck turned to Sarah, taking her by the hand. "Let's go, okay? It's no big deal, really. Just a bad day, I guess." He pulled Sarah towards the door, and threw a quick glace over his shoulder as she went through it. He saw Casey still rooted to the same spot, staring blankly after them.

* * *

_A day earlier..._

Thursday was schedule day at the Buy More. Big Mike posted everyone's shift for the upcoming week in the break room before the staff arrived, then locked himself in his office with a dozen Krispy Kremes until lunch, having found that this was the ideal way to avoid hearing his staff complain about how much/little/early/late they had to work the following week.

And sure enough, Chuck arrived at nine o'clock to find the new schedule posted and Big Mike already in hiding. Sighing heavily at the thought of yet another week of cover work at the Buy More, he pulled his phone from his pocket, intending to enter his shifts for the week into his calendar. However, his finger froze over the touchpad when he didn't see his name in its usual top spot on the roster.

He'd been bumped, by none other than John Casey.

Chuck's surprise at his "demotion" only lasted for a moment. Big Mike had never been one to pass up an opportunity to make his feelings known, and a worker's place on the schedule was a direct reflection of his or her status in the manager's eyes. Since Chuck was far and away the best worker Big Mike had ever had, he usually occupied the top spot. But Casey had sold a record five Beastmasters last week, and so, for the moment, he was the Golden One, topping this week's bill.

Chuck almost snorted when he imagined the look of indignation on Big Mike's face should he ever find out just how little this "honor" meant to Casey.

Finger again poised over his phone, Chuck looked at the schedule. He saw the words "Week of 9/24" right above the name "John Casey", and then someone hit him between the eyes with a sledgehammer. He fell to one knee, dizzy and slightly nauseous. He'd never felt like this after a flash; the information he accessed must have been deeply buried.

It was a full thirty seconds before Chuck got back to his feet. He was still nauseous, but not from the pain. He looked again at the schedule, focusing on one name and one date, and the sick feeling grew even worse.

"Oh, no."

* * *

Casey slammed the door to his apartment. He flung his gym bag to the floor, the sparring session replaying in his mind. He could still hear the air rushing from the kid's lungs as he delivered blow after blow, and he became so disgusted with himself that he almost forgot to activate the perimeter alarms. His partner had been mad enough to kill, and he half wished that the kid hadn't stopped Sarah from beating him senseless. God knows he deserved it.

But Bartowski _had_ stopped her. He'd had every reason not to, but he'd stopped her anyway. He'd pulled himself off the mat, then pulled Sarah from the room, leaving Casey alone. But Bartowski had looked back as the door closed, and there was no way Casey had mistaken the emotion written all over the kid's face.

Empathy.

Casey was staggered by a possibility that sprang to mind, but only for a moment. It couldn't be. There was no way the kid could know. He'd been here over two years; if he knew, he'd have said something before now. Bartowski just couldn't keep quiet, especially when feelings were involved.

He had almost convinced himself, until he rounded the corner and saw the items sitting on his desk.

A bottle of Black Label and a new bonsai tree.

The truth hit him like a freight train. Of course Bartowski knew. More than that, the kid understood.

* * *

It was two in the morning when his visitor finally appeared. Chuck wasn't surprised. The Morgan Door had been used many times at this ungodly hour, usually by its namesake. On rare but very good nights, a beautiful blonde ninja climbed gracefully through it.

Tonight's guest was very different. Sitting propped against his headboard, Chuck put down his book and watched Casey stumble as he clambered through the window, the agent's entrance made clumsy by the bottle of Black Label in one hand and a glass tumbler in the other. Even by the dim light of his reading lamp, Chuck could see uncertainty etched in the lines of the older man's face, and after finally making it through the window, Casey settled himself against the window frame, as if afraid that fully entering the room would cross some imaginary line. He refilled his glass, and Chuck could see that most of the whiskey was already gone.

Chuck just watched in silence as Casey took a few drinks of his whiskey, and grimaced as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Finally, the big man spoke.

"Her name was Allison. She was nine years old."

Chuck already knew this. He knew that all the kids in the Coburn family have – had - "A" names; Allison, Andrew, Allen, and big brother Alexander. But he wasn't about to interrupt, not when Casey talked so little and Chuck still wasn't sure if this meant that his latest overture of friendship had been accepted.

The agent swirled his scotch, and Chuck watched as the amber liquid and cut glass did strange things to the moonlight. He waited.

"We were walking home from school. I was a block behind her, horsing around with a few of my friends. I told her to go on ahead, that I'd catch up. Who wants their little sister always tagging along, right?" Casey looks down at his glass again, and the words stop flowing as if a faucet has been turned off.

A minute or two pass. Chuck still waited.

"I didn't see the car hit her. But I heard it." The last of the scotch in Casey's glass disappeared in one long pull. The agent's brow furrowed, and the pain behind his words was unmistakable.

"I still do."

Casey stared for a moment into his empty glass. "I guess you flashed on my file?" He didn't look up as he spoke.

"Yeah. I didn't mean to; sometimes it just happens."

Casey looked up from his empty glass, and Chuck couldn't decipher the look on his face. Afraid that the NSA agent was angry at the intrusion into his privacy, he offered a hasty explanation.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to pry or anything. It's just, you're both in the Intersect, you and Sarah, and I'm around you so much..." Casey still said nothing; Chuck pressed on. "It's almost always work stuff. Mission details, past associates, commendations, every now and then a photo or two." He shivered slightly, remembering a table full of dead French assassins and/or diplomats (assassomats?) with their faces in their soup. "Your personnel files must be flagged as confidential or redacted or something, because this is the first time I've ever seen anything this personal on either of you. But your name was right next to the date that...well, you know...on the schedule at work, and that must have broken something loose." He risked a glance at Casey, and found that the big man had gone back to contemplating the dregs of his scotch. "If it's any consolation, the flash hurt like hell."

Casey grunted. Apparently, that _was_ some consolation.

"S'okay. Long as I've been around, I figured I had to be in there somewhere." He poured himself the last of the Black Label, then stared hard at the bottle, as if willing it to refill itself. "You tell Walker?"

"No. I didn't figure it was my place."

Those words seemed to knock something loose in the big man. Suddenly, Casey leaned towards Chuck, swaying slightly as he did so. Chuck almost reached out to steady him, but Casey pointed a thick finger at the younger man, the empty bottle still clutched tightly in his hand. "Damn right it wasn't your place. In fact, none of this was any of your business. You shoulda just acted like you didn't know anything, as usual." He pointed at Chuck for a few more seconds, as if for emphasis. Chuck was frozen. He knew that he'd made a mistake, knew that Casey's next words would make clear just how far over the line he'd gone.

But those words never came. As quickly as it appeared, Casey's anger vanished. Chuck could see his entire body go limp, and the big man sagged against the windowsill, the bottle-clutching hand dropping limply to his side.

"M'sorry. Didn't mean that. I just..." Casey trailed off, apparently having no idea how to finish the sentence. He looked so tired, Chuck thought, and somehow much older than he had just a few hours ago.

"It's okay." Chuck stood and moved toward Casey, took the empty bottle from his hand. Casey remained hunched over, his chin nearly touching his chest, and Chuck perched on the edge of his bed in order to look up into his friend's eyes.

"You know, Casey, Ellie and I spent years not knowing why our parents left us. We still don't know why Mom took off. For the longest time, I thought they left because of something I had said or done, that they had been disappointed in me, that they stopped loving me. I beat myself up for years, blamed myself for the fact that Ellie and I were alone."

On impulse, Chuck stood. Taking one step forward, he placed a hand on Casey's shoulder. "But eventually, I realized that I couldn't think that way. My parents did what they did, and all I accomplished by blaming myself was to make it impossible to move on. But even after all this time, even after finding out why Dad left, there are still moments when I wonder if I could have done something different, something that would have made them stay."

Casey looked at the hand on his shoulder, and Chuck could hear a low, rumbling growl building in the big man. Sensing that the moment had passed, Chuck quickly withdrew his hand and sat back down on the bed, sighing. "Casey, I'm not trying to give you a big pep talk about not blaming yourself, or anything like that. I'm sure you've already heard a million variations of that speech. I just thought maybe it might help to know that, moron though I am, this is something that I actually get."

Casey regarded Chuck for a moment. There was a strange look on his face; it wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't his usual scowl, either. But before Chuck could puzzle out its meaning, Casey turned away with a soft grunt and retreated back through the Morgan Door. He was surprisingly steady on his feet given the now empty bottle on Chuck's dresser, and Chuck thought with a pang that this was far from the first time that Casey tried to drown his demons. Chuck waited by the window, thinking that Casey would say something, but the big man didn't look back, and a moment later Chuck heard the door of his apartment close.

A full five minutes later, Chuck still stood in front of his open window, a bemused look on his face, wondering if he'd finally managed to be a friend to John Casey.

* * *

So that's it, my first attempt at a Chuck/Casey friendship story. Thanks for reading. This one was a little out of my comfort zone, so please send a review to let me know what you thought!

CJ


End file.
